The Foggy Dew

As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No fife did hum nor battle drum did sound it's dread tatoo But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out through the foggy dew
Right proudly high over Dublin town, they flung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud El Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's huns with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew
'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go that small Nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great
North Sea O, had they died by Pearse's side, or had fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew
But the bravest fell and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that watertide in the springtime of the year
The world did gaze with deep amaze at those fearless men, but few.

Who bore the fight that Freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew.
Ah, back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I'd kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew